


IN THE DEAD OF NIGHT

by AlJeDd



Category: Original Work, nanowrimo - Fandom
Genre: Children, Confusion, Crying, Fear, Forests, Frustration, Gen, Identity Issues, Late at Night, Loneliness, Loss of Identity, Loss of Parent(s), Nightmares, Orphans, Runaway, Sadness, Screaming, Therapy, woods
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-10
Updated: 2015-11-10
Packaged: 2018-04-29 19:47:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5140319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlJeDd/pseuds/AlJeDd





	IN THE DEAD OF NIGHT

In the dead of night, fear lingers like the fog that chokes the city. Pollution challenges the mist, drifting from everywhere. In the dead of night, where refreshed animals hunt in the safety of dark, people stick to the pathways, underneath lights and not concealed in the shadows. Near a woods, twigs crack and trees groan, tired and old and ever so cold. Snooping criminals with names plastered on police boards prowl like hungry wolves in dire need of release; they steal and vandalise and cause havoc - they cannot be seen in the barren forests or deserted alleyways. The public are afraid of their stereotypical appearances.

One young girl is not afraid. In the dead of the night, she seeks answers only the moon can provide - the sun would give away too much and get her caught. She isn't a criminal like the prowlers, though, but being spotted would not place her in the best of positions either. Her questions trip over each other in desperation to be answered; hushed voices floating in her mind like a boat in choppy waters.

Calm breaths. White clouds of condensation dissipate into the night sky, but it isn't smoke. She dares not to touch any form of toxins, not if she wants to get where she needs. Good girls don't get caught - they are respected and (discreetly) manipulative. Sweet and kind will earn her the necessary trust; her questions are the lock and the answers are her key to success. All she needs is a bit of luck and a damn easy person to break.

Months wasted on research; never resulting in anything except lack of sleep. The girl, no older than sixteen but no less than thirteen is clearly malnourished, but nobody cares when you're simply a number in such a vast system. Apparently, it is illegal for her to care for herself, but she wants to know; _is it illegal to be unknown?_ In this dystopian society it is easy to get lost in the promised words of protection. A country too scared to speak their minds, working vigorously to survive the government. Brainwashed by twisted news spread worldwide. It isn't right!

Ragged clothes barely provide warmth in the dead of the night, but at least she has layers. Time once was rushed, unable to be saved as she packed necessities and left in the dead of night. Now time is blurred, a mix between night and day and the girl has all the time in the world. Under the wing of the dead of night, she can do whatever the hell she wants and get whatever she wants. Well, apart from finding her true blood.

Blood and chocolate. What an odd combination! Once, a delicate elderly handed the girl a bar of brown delight; she had savoured the treat for days. Her finger had caught on the wrapper and bled some, and as she sucked away the droplets her tongue had protested against the metallic taste that left a solid iron there until it was washed away. The chocolate had swelled up in her mouth too, before it was drowned by water the texture had lay heavy on her tongue, but at least the dairy goody silenced the growls (the blood could never satisfy that).

Now the growls are her greatest companion. They speak for her - she barely ever has to talk (unless she is speaking with her friends, then she talks greatly). The growls gain food, even when the girl does not utter a word to the pitiful passers by. She does not understand their pity: she is more free than they have ever been. That girl never has to pay for the right to live under manipulating governments, she never has to pay for food or clothes or shelter. In the dead of night, her dreams and wishes are granted (for she is a good girl, and good girls cannot be caught doing bad things). So why do the women give her sad looks and the men look down upon her frame as if she is a neglected animal as she hovers at the edges of the woods, fearing to advance further in the light of day?

Which is why, in the dead of night, a girl with blue eyes that send the sky slinking away in shame lives with nature. The trees dance for her, the wind tells her jokes. She can giggle, laugh, sing and scream however loud she wants, and nobody will ever reprimand her for it. Raindrops shower her muddied skin and wash her tattered clothes for her, but the pond helps too - she always makes sure to thank nature for being so kind to her. Even the glaring sun softens at the shine of her golden hair; it is long and luxurious despite the conditions.

In the summer, both at sunrise and in the dead of night, pollen tickles her and flowers perform for her. The trees allow her to lean against them and they protect her in the woods. She can play hide and seek with the insects and chase rabbits like the big dogs do in the dead of night; she's seen it herself and it's a lot of fun! However she remembers not to make friends with the huge doggies because someone once told her that they are dangerous - was it the snowflakes?

And isn't it silly when that crazy man joins her (only rarely) in the dead of night hauling a massive cart full of colourful tins. They tinkle and chime, it sounds like a beautiful song and always make the girl smile. He talks to himself, muttering a to-do list even when nobody is there! Isn't that funny? He is a very silly man. Though the girl finds it a little scary when the delirious middle-aged fellow shouts into the air and scares the fluffy bunnies and squirrels and hedgehogs and racoons; the girl does not like that! The stranger pulls at his thinning grey hair that reaches his lower ribs and tugs at his lengthy beard as he says naughty words.

The girl isn't allowed to say naughty words, though sometimes she'll dare in the dead of night. Her fingernails, caked in dirt, grip tree trunks and her gleaming eyes will spot a hunted deer; she whispers curses at the proud men that come to collect it. They wear...different clothes. The men (these ones aren't crazy like the one in the dead of night) are hard to see as their shirts are the colour of the mud that slashes against the girl's pale cheeks. Coats and shoes give them away: the rustling and crunching against the fallen leaves can be heard far, far away. The leaves warn her of the men's presence so she can hide, but this isn't a game of hide and seek. If she is found, the loud sirens and blinding lights might take her away again.

If the girl gets caught because it isn't the dead of night, she may be forcefully sent away by bulky men that are scarier than the crazy man whilst icy women that are colder than the baby snowflakes tell her she will be joining other boys and girls. She hates those buildings - they are too big and loud and bustling. Too many accidents. She got hurt. Plenty of times. But there were that many people in them huge buildings that she was never noticed. It didn't matter anyway. The trees tapped songs onto her window in the dead of night and the wind reassured her that she could stay with them soon.

No, she will never be caught. It is impossible anyway because she is a good girl and she can recall a person that she used to know very well (her memory is quite fuzzy now, like the racoons fur!) telling her that good girls cannot be caught as they aren't doing anything wrong. And she isn't. She has never stolen anything like the gangs do in the dead of night, dressed in black disguises as they rummage through buildings that people might live in. She has never stolen anything that someone has owned or desired before. Sure, she has nicked a few things here and there from the bins near the town, but that was in the dead of night and nobody around wants anything to do with the bins.

Which is unfortunate; they are missing out on so much free food and drink that they buy instead. The girl can get all of this for free in the bins and she barely ever gets sick from what she eats. She knows that there are some women that are sick in the mind, and physically. Blue irises have watched in utter shock and awe as a woman vomited into a rusty bin that she had never used before. The woman must have eaten a child, because her tummy was so big and the baby must have been trying to fight its way back out, when the woman clutched her stomach and claimed it was kicking. How many women eat children - the girl has seen plenty of chubby ladies holding their stomachs after a filling meal of babies so she avoids them nasty people at all costs.

In the dead of night, she is safe, she is safe and happy where there are no baby-eating ladies that should be classed as monsters. In fact she has never witnessed an attack of monsters, not personally (there are no monsters in the dead of night, she would be called a monster by children that survived being eaten by ladies). Maybe the monsters in the stories come out when she is asleep? She tends to dose periodically more so than have solid blocks of slumber in case random humans try to talk to her.

The birds chirp in the day and play in the dead of night. They sing lullabies to the girl when she rests, and most days they keep her mind at peace. Sometimes though, on really bad days when the leaves stop dancing and the baby snowflakes grow up and lay with the leaves and the wind howls like the big dogs and the crazy man, she has nightmares. Nightmares are scary. She vividly pictures the same scene, blood trickling along the road and bodies that are twisted in ways they shouldn't be.

She smells metal and smoke and it burns her nostrils, her eyes water and her vision wavers, but it isn't rain that washes the crimson on her cheeks. Her head hurts real bad and she can hear distressed cries for help and mercy. The wails are drowned out by louder, higher pitched wails with accompanied lights. Lime green jackets jump around the destruction, prying away sharp items to get to people she remembers loving her but she cannot remember being around for them to love her. Once, those people that were sleeping for a very long time (in the car, that's dangerous!) in the crushed seats in front lived with her.

Those terrors wake her, sending shivers down her spine (at least the girl's is straight and intact, not like the ones in her dreams) and cold water over her skin. The glossy skin forms goose bumps on those nights, and her pearly teeth chatter and her eyes burn like they did in the wreckage. A professional woman - that one didn't eat babies - assured her that, if ever she needed to, the girl could tell her about bad dreams. She can remember where the office is.

Maybe tomorrow, or the day after when it is not in the dead of night, she shall pay the nice lady a visit. It would be great to see other humans; she cannot deny how fantastic her friends in the woods are (they will all always have each others' backs) and how soothing her mama is: she prefers the name mother nature - has she heard that noun before? She must have done! But she misses the warm, soft contact of another person of her species (the trees cannot provide that but the woods do compromise).


End file.
